


Old Blood

by clickybang



Series: The Light in the Blood universe [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Complete, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:35:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2474996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickybang/pseuds/clickybang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Richie's relationship crumbles he goes into a tail-spin.  What better project for Methos, putting the boy together again? But his offer will have huge consequences for them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breaking Up is Hard to Do

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic written years ago, off the back of reading HL fic - the show wasn't screened in NZ, so any character building was based off other fics and not canon.
> 
> This is also set in the Light in the Blood universe, which is a convenient way of avoiding Richie's death.

Richie dumped the box of books into the back of the car, heaving a mental sigh of relief. When Mac had asked him to go and pick up a few things from a friends place, he hadn't expected to spend two days carting what seemed to be the entire Seacouver Library around the city. Still, he got to drive the T-bird with Macs blessing. It was almost worth it.

Leaping into the car, he paused long enough to do his seatbelt up before pulling out into the afternoon traffic. It was only a quick trip back to the dojo, and before long Richie was back in the car, a huge stupid grin plastered on his face.

It may have been rare for Mac to let him have the car, he thought, making his way across the city, but it was almost impossible for him to have the car on a day when he could see Michelle.

Michelle. He shook his head to himself, knowing that if anyone saw him right now they'd laugh; he could feel the smile growing. They had been seeing each other for almost two years; they had met eight months after Richie had 'died' and had been, in Richies opinion, a huge part of getting him to deal with his new life.

Sighing, he pulled into the drive behind her apartment, careful to watch the wing mirrors as he did so. He could just imagine what Mac would say if he found out his car had been damaged while Richie was going to see his girlfriend.

Slamming the door, he bounded up the steps and burst through the doors.

"Richie!" Michelle's roommate Leah stared him. "Don't do that to me! I nearly put my mascara up my nose!" She waved the stick at him admonishingly and he drew up straight.

"I apologise, madam." He bowed deeply, standing up just in time to get a face full of cushion. He threw it back on the sofa, grinning at her. "Is Michelle here?"

"No, she shot off about an hour ago. But she left a note saying she'd be back around now." Leah turned back to the huge mirror, pulling a strange face as she finished her makeup. Richie shrugged and turned towards the kitchen.

"What are you getting all dolled up for?" He asked, opening the fridge.

"Job interview." Leah mumbled around putting her lipstick on. "Do you think I'd make a good computer help line operator?"

"As in, talking on the phone all day?" Richie slammed the fridge shut, having selected yoghurt, and quickly located a spoon.

"Yeah." She grinned and threw her makeup back into the little bag that was never far away.

"If you're going to be talking on the phone all day, why do you need to look like that?" Richie opened the yoghurt. Leah laughed at him.

"The boss is a woman. The usual offers won't work this time." She pretended to look disappointed. Richie laughed.

"Well, you look great." He assured her. She preened in front of him, then spun around.

"I forgot my earrings!" She dropped the makeup bag on the coffee table and disappeared into her room. Richie dropped into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, staring out at the view that the living room boasted.

"Wait!" Michelle's voice reached him from the other side of the door. "Just hold on a minute." The door swung open and Michelle fell into the room, screaming with laughter. Richies greeting died on his lips as he realised that she wasn't alone. The guy with her grabbed her around the waist and kissed her soundly. She giggled and pretended to push him away. Richie dropped his spoon, and Michelle turned towards the sound, her mouth forming a shocked 'o' as she realised who it was.

"Richie…" She stared at him for a moment, then looked at her companion. Richie got to his feet, his expression dark.

"Don't worry about it." He said thickly. "I was just leaving." He dumped both yoghurt and spoon into the sink and turned away, but Michelle grabbed his arm.

"Richie, don't go." Her voice was strangely high-pitched, and he could see the panic in her eyes. He shook her off.

"No, I wouldn't want to get in your way." He stepped around her and smiled toothily at the guy, who was staring at him apprehensively. "Enjoy it while you can." He slammed the door behind him in and ran down the steps, stumbling in his haste.

By the time he got to the car, the lump in his throat had swelled to continental proportions, and he was sobbing by the time the apartment faded from view.

# # # # #

Mac wasn't home when Richie emerged from the elevator, thankfully, and he stood for a long time in the centre of the living room, listening to his own ragged breathing.

Michelle. He didn't feel like smiling when he thought of her now. He swallowed, his throat aching, and closed his eyes. The image of her kissing that guy, and the look in her eyes when she saw him… his eyes popped open and he took a deep shuddering sigh.

Making his way slowly to the kitchen, he stared at the bench as if he had never seen it before, the sharp outlines blurred by the look in her eyes and his own tears.

Squeezing his eyes shut again, he threw open the fridge, more from habit than any need.

Mac had the usual weird collection of groceries, and a dozen bottles of beer for Methos, whenever he decided to grace them with his presence. Richie pulled one out and stared at it for a long moment, then opened the top thoughtfully.

Closing the fridge door, he made his way back to the living room and sank onto the sofa.

# # # # #

Richie was still staring at the big bay window when the door banged open. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear it. A figure passed his view, and he came alert.

"You're drinking my beer?" Methos threw open the fridge and grabbed one himself.

"It's Macs beer." Richie muttered, gripping the bottle tighter.

"He'll ground you if he sees you." Methos grinned, dropping into one of the overstuffed armchairs. Richie didn't respond. His expression was one Methos had seen before; that of a man who has lost all hope, and Methos wondered what had happened. "Are you all right?" He popped open the bottle and lifted it to his lips. Richie shook his head almost imperceptibly.

"Michelle's gone." He said. Methos raised his eyebrows. "She was cheating on me."

"Oh." The older man stared at the coffee table, trying to think of something to say that didn't sound too corny. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well." Richie shrugged and lifted the beer to his lips, the movement almost mechanical. Methos frowned again, not liking the quiet passiveness of the usually obnoxious Richie.

"Look, it might seem unfair, but at least you found out now, before you committed too much." He said lightly.

"Committed further? You mean like, have a kid together?" Richie stared at him angrily. "What do you know about it anyway?"

"Well, I have had a little experience with life." Methos replied dryly. Richie flushed but held his gaze. "Look, I'm just saying that better late than never."

"Thanks, that makes me feel so much better." Richie turned his gaze back to the window, jumping when Methos slammed his beer onto the coffee table.

"Look, you're only young. This is what happens when we love mortals. It'll probably get worse before it gets better, so deal with it before you do something stupid." Richie stared at him for a long moment, surprised by the outburst. He had been expecting silence, or worse, sympathy. This was unexpected, to say the least.

"This is what happens?" Richie asked. "They cheat on us?"

"We lose them, one way or another." Methos replied patiently. "I think seeing her with someone else now would be better than watching her die in fifty years time." He watched as Richie thought this over.

"So you're saying that the only happiness I'll find is with another Immortal?" The boy asked eventually.

"No. You had happiness with Michelle. But nothing lasts forever, even if both partners can't die." Methos picked up his beer again.

"That's very philosophical." Duncan's voice was accompanied by the sound of the door slamming shut.

"I spent my lunch hour reading Sophie's World." Methos shrugged. Duncan smiled and glanced at Richie.

"But why the lecture?"

"Michelle." Richie didn't seem inclined to say much else, and Methos stood up obediently when MacLeod gestured. Once they were in the kitchen, and mostly out of earshot, Duncan asked him quietly.

"I think he caught her fooling around with some guy." Methos answered. Duncan looked surprised; he had met Michelle several times, and she had seemed like a fairly levelheaded young woman. And she had seemed like she was very much in love with Richie.

"How many beers has he had?"

"There was only one missing, and since the T-bird is still in one piece, I assume he didn't drink before getting home." Methos shrugged. "You think he'll do something stupid?"

"I don't know. It's Richie." Duncan curled his lip into a half-smile. "Trouble seems to find him quite well without his help." He quickly put away the groceries he had brought home; the usual milk, coffee and beer. Methos watched him thoughtfully.

"Maybe you should distract him." He suggested. "Pick up his training a bit more or something."

"Maybe." Duncan closed the fridge. "But not just yet. He looks shell-shocked."

"He is." They both turned to stare at the man in question, but he had disappeared, leaving his barely touched beer sitting on the coffee table. Before they could speak, the sound of the bathroom door slamming and the hot water beginning to flow reached them.

"He is obviously too new at this." Methos commented. Duncan looked at him inquiringly, and Methos gestured with his bottle. "He hasn't finished his beer."


	2. Chapter 2

The shower washed away the feeling of numbness for a while, and Richie stood under the scalding stream until it ran cold. Then he stood under it for a further twenty minutes, shivering.

By the time he got out, his eyes were sore, and he was freezing, but he felt better. Almost human.

Wrapping himself into one of the big fluffy towels that Amanda had made Mac buy, he tried to escape to his room without being seen. He failed when he kicked the doorframe.

Swearing, he looked up. Methos was staring at him, wearing that infuriating grin.

"Feel better?"

"No." Richie scowled and rubbed his foot.

"Feel like finishing your drink?"

"No."

"How about a coffee?" Even in his current mood, Richie was caught off guard.

"You'd make me a coffee?" His tone was incredulous. Methos nodded.

"Sure. You get your heart broken, you're entitled to a few days of generosity." He put his beer next to the three other bottles on the coffee table and stood up. Richie waited until he had disappeared into the kitchen before moving into the living room.

Dropping onto the sofa, he closed his eyes. Again, the image of Michelle's shocked expression flooded his mind, and he opened them again, not wanting to think about it. Fixing his gaze on the TV, he watched as a lion chased down a zebra. By the time Methos returned with his coffee, the entire pride was settling down for a feast.

"Thanks." Richie wrapped his hands around the warm mug; he was still cold enough to be shaking, and the warmth spread up his arms. "Where's Mac?"

"Had to go and see Joe." Methos dropped into his own seat. "He'll be back soon, I think."

"And he left you here to baby-sit me?" Richie asked shrewdly.

"No, that was my idea." Methos replied. Richie grimaced and lifted the coffee to his lips, then screwed his face up in disgust and put the mug down.

"This is coffee?" He rubbed his tongue over the roof of his mouth, trying to get rid of the taste. "It tastes like tar."

"You're welcome." Methos pulled a face. Richie screwed his face up and Methos began to laugh.

"Well, if you're that grateful I won't make you another one." He picked up his beer. "Beers' healthier, anyway."

"If that what you think coffee is, then I'd agree with you." Richie sat back, staring at the mug balefully.

"So did the shower help?"

"Not really, no." Richie glanced at him. "Why are you so concerned?"

"Well, you're Mac's student. He seems to like you, which I suppose means that you might be a kind of all right person. Although he likes me." Methos paused thoughtfully. "Anyway, if he thinks you're all right, you must be doing something right. It'd be a shame if you threw that away because of something like this."

"Like this?" Richie echoed. "Like what? Like finding out the woman who told me she would love me forever was dragging some other guy into her bed?"

"Forever has a different meaning for different people." Methos frowned. "You believed her?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"How do you two start together?"

"She was going out with a guy I knew." Richie lapsed into silence, only to look up at Methos grudgingly. "Oh."

"Oh is about right." Methos tried to sound concerned, and Richie glanced at him sharply; concern was not something that was associated with the man staring at him from across the coffee table.

"I think I'm going to go to bed." Richie stood up abruptly. Too much more sympathy and he'd explode, he thought. Methos shrugged and turned his attention back to the TV. The hyenas were now going in for their share.

 

# # # # #

 

Richie rolled over, pulling the pillow closer to his face. The feelings he had been trying all day to comprehend had finally broken free with the darkness, and his shivering body was wracked with loss, betrayal and disbelief. His throat ached with the need to sob, but he couldn't do it, and he settled for screwing his face up and trying to suffocate himself with the pillow.

Images came to him, unbidden and unwanted, but rather than push them away, he relived his happier moments with Michelle, a psychological salting to his wounds.

"Ready?” Michelle met his gaze with her own, full of nervous laughter. They were tied together, and her body felt good against his own. He nodded, nervous fear spilling through him, then they stepped off the edge together.

For a moment they hung suspended, and she tightened her grip around his waist. Then they were falling. His gaze locked with hers, and he laughed, his fear suddenly gone. She began to laugh as well, just as the rope around their ankles snapped taut.

Bungee jumping eighteen months earlier. She had told him she had loved him that night. Richie's throat constricted as the memory of her skin brushing against him as she whispered in his ear....

He flung himself onto his back, breathing heavily. This wasn't working, he thought. Getting up, he paced the room, then turned to stare at his closet. He needed something to take his mind off his emotions.

 

# # # # #

 

Duncan stepped out of the elevator, his arms full of paperwork that he'd meant to do the night before. Joe had rung him instead, and he had passed the night trying to predict where the Headhunters sweeping up the coast would strike next.

The sound of heavy breathing came to him and he looked up. Richie was sitting in the home gym Duncan had installed a few months earlier, his sword resting on the bench next to him.

"Good morning." Duncan smiled in greeting. Richie nodded at him, pushing the bar up again. Duncan disappeared into his office, dropping the paperwork onto the desk. From here, he could see that Richie was bench-pressing one-sixty, almost his own weight. Frowning, the Scot leaned against the back of his chair, watching the young Immortal. Methos had offered to stay with him while he had gone to Joe's, and Richie had been in bed when Duncan had finally made it home. Duncan had heard him moving in the night.

It was clear that he wasn't ready to talk yet, and Duncan sighed, turning to eye the paperwork wearily. Sitting down, he failed to see Methos slip into the dojo, already drawing his sword.

A surprised yell brought him to his feet again. Methos was standing over Richie, who was crouching behind the bench he had been lying on moments earlier. He reached out for his sword, and stood up. Methos beckoned to him, smiling.

Duncan shook his head to himself. Richie didn't need this, he thought. Not yet. Still, maybe it would help to be reminded. He relaxed slightly, confident the older man wouldn't do any serious damage.

Richie advanced quickly, his offence jerky and ill timed. He was fighting without thought, Duncan realised. He shifted closer to the door, and his own sword, concealed nearby, just in case Methos lost his patience.

"Come on." Methos sneered to the sweating boy. "I know you can fight better than this." He lifted his blade to meet Richie's, the impact jarring both of them. Richie muttered something, but Methos couldn't hear it. Drawing back slightly, the older man let Richie come to him.

"Whatever is going on in your life, your fighting shouldn't be affected." He said. "Hasn't MacLeod taught you anything?" He dodged a wide blow, only to step into the blade a second later. Feeling it puncture his side, he bit back a yell and spun sharply, wrenching the sword from Richies hands. Richie stared at him for a moment, then sat down on the bench heavily.

"What the hell was that?" Methos asked, pulling the blade free with a grimace. It wasn't deep, but it had lodged in his hip, and pain arched up his torso as the steel became free. He swayed slightly as the pain enveloped him, but pushed it back down, concentrating on the redhead in front of him. "Are you trying to fight me, or chop me down like a tree?"

Richie didn't answer. Methos threw his sword down at his feet and sat down suddenly, his leg going dead. He could feel blood soak into his jeans, and grimaced in distaste.

"I have seen you fight. You're better than that. Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"And why not?" Richie asked suddenly. "Why go through all this just to see the sun come up again, just to get hurt again?"

"Because the hurting is only a small part of it." Methos snapped. "Unless you happen to be hurting from being mistaken for a tree." He rubbed his leg, trying to get some feeling back into it.

"What do expect, creeping up on me?" Richie retorted. Methos glared at him for a moment.

"That's it." He said finally. "MacLeod, I'm taking over your tutoring of this brat."

 

# # # # #

 

Methos sat down gingerly, making sure he kept off the rugs. His leg was aching slightly, but his arm was on fire. Note to self, he thought, Richie doesn't like being called brat. Richie almost severed his arm, and he cradled it carefully while Duncan fetched him a beer. Richie had retreated to his room as soon as he had dropped Methos into the chair, muttering to himself.

"All right." Duncan sat down opposite him, sliding a beer across the tabletop. "Why?"

"Why what?" Methos opened the bottle one-handed, a difficult trick at the best of times.

"Why did you sneak up on him? Why are you taking over his tutoring? Why are you so bloody concerned?"

"Because he needs a shock, MacLeod. You're right, he's a good kid, but he's going to get himself killed at this rate." Methos smirked. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were acting like this because you think I'm stealing your glory."

"But you do know better." Duncan told him. Methos half-shrugged, wincing.

"Think of it as good-cop bad-cop." He suggested. "I'll tell him he can come back to you any time he likes, after the first week. He needs to get shaken out of this mood."

"He's only been in this mood since yesterday." Duncan pointed out. "He needs time to heal."

"Yes, but it only takes a moment to lose your head." Methos countered. Duncan studied him for a moment, his eyes narrowing.

"Why are you really doing this?" He asked. Methos stared back at him innocently, shaking his head slightly.

"Because you're too involved." He replied eventually. "I know you're going to worry and fret about him and probably end up losing your own head in the process. I spoke to Joe last night. He thinks you're the best person to sort this thing out. And since Richie is not going to freeze until you get back, I'll step in."

Duncan picked up his glass, two fingers of whisky, and stared at it thoughtfully.

"One week, at the least." He said finally. Methos nodded, then winced as pins and needles began dancing up his healing arm.


	3. Chapter 3

"I can't believe you'd sell me out like this." Richie exclaimed. "Although I suppose the timing couldn't be better." He stared at the end of the bed, drawing his legs up. Duncan frowned.

"Richie, it's only for a week, then it's up to you." He said patiently. "I'm not deserting you."

"Sure." Richie said flatly. Duncan stared at him for a moment, then turned and left.

Richie slumped slightly as the door closed, closing his eyes. First Michelle, then Mac? He shook his head. Why did everything have to change so suddenly? Now he would have to contend with Methos, who was probably furious at Richie for trying to chop his arm off.

Sighing, he slammed his head backwards into the wall. The small explosion of pain was welcome, and he opened his eyes, relieved that the pain elsewhere had subsided for a moment.

Swinging his legs off the bed, he stood up slowly, an idea taking root in his subconscious.

# # # # #

"Richie's run the hot water out again." Duncan dropped his coffee mug into the sink. "Go and bang on the door, will you?"

"Why? I don't need any hot water?" Methos looked up from his book, already swinging his legs down from the arm of the chair. Duncan glared at him for a moment, then turned around, seizing the opportunity to change the radio station while Methos was out of the room. For someone so old, he thought, he had weird tastes.

# # # # #

"Richie!" Methos banged on the door with a fist, glad the ache in his arm had finally disappeared. "Mac says your time is up!" He frowned when there was no answer, but then, he hadn't been expecting one. Turning, he opened his mouth to yell at Duncan, but stopped when he dropped his bookmark. It had been made by one of his students, when he had still been teaching at the university, and has been fashioned from antique silk. Bending over to pick it up, he frowned when it came up wet.

Taking a step back, he realised that water was seeping through the bottom of the door, soaking the carpet.

"Mac!" He shouted, then kicked the door, just below the handle. It popped open, and two inches of cold pink water flooded out over his bare feet. Swearing, he threw his book at his chair, missed, and strode into the bathroom.

"Fuck." He breathed, stopping dead and staring. Richie was lying in the bath, a smile on his face and a razor in his hand. Duncan thudded into his back as he barged in, paling visibly as he took in the scene.

"I don't believe it." Methos splashed through the bloody water and pulled the razor from Richies unresisting fingers. "What are you trying to do, cut your own head off?" He slapped the boy gently, and was relieved to see his eyes flutter open.

"No." He mumbled. "Just hurts."

Methos stared at him for a moment, then grabbed his arm, twisting it up to expose the tender side. Bone-deep scores were dark red against Richies pale skin, and Methos let him go, taking a step back and staring at him.

"Are you mad?" He asked. "You've flooded the hallway." He leaned down between Richies feet and pulled the plug. Richie giggled at him drunkenly, then gasped as Duncan hauled him out of the cold water onto the edge of the tub, swearing and lecturing him in Gaelic.

Methos grabbed one of the fluffy towels and threw it over Richie, then picked up another one and dropped it on the floor, watching as it darkened with the bloody water.

Duncan picked Richie up like a child and carried him out of the bathroom, leaving Methos to clean up as best he could.

# # # # #

By the time the water was mopped up, and most of the stains taken out of the tiles on the floor, Richie was sitting on the sofa, sipping a coffee. Duncan was perched on the edge of one of the chairs, watching him like a hawk. Methos' book had been placed neatly on the coffee table, the damp bookmark sitting next to it.

"Said anything yet?" Methos mouthed at Duncan. The highlander shook his head and Methos tightened his lips, then stomped into the living room and sat down next to Richie.

"You ruined my bookmark." He picked it up and dropped it again absently. "Shame. That silk was older than you are." He smiled toothily at Richie, who didn't respond. Methos stared at him for a moment. "Why did you do it? You can't kill yourself."

"Wasn't trying to." Richie replied, his teeth still slightly chattering. Although he was wrapped in various layers of clothing and sitting under a sleeping bag, he was still shaking.

"Then why do it? To make the water a pretty colour?" Methos leaned closer.

"I did it because I wanted to." Richie lifted dark eyes to his, and he was surprised there was no longer any pain there. "I did it so that it wouldn't hurt any more."

"There are better ways than that." Duncan told him. He bit his lip.

"That was the way I wanted to do it." He said quietly. Duncan frowned, not understanding.

"Did it work?" Methos asked. "I mean, do you feel any better?"

"Actually, yeah." Richie half-smiled, a ghastly sight, giving the whiteness of his skin and the pale blue still tinging his lips. "I feel clean."

"Really? You're stained all pink." Methos said critically. Richie laughed, a short, harsh sound. Duncan shook his head.

"Richie..." His voice died away. He had no idea what to say, Methos realised.

"I think you should come and stay with me for the next week or so." He said. "I have hardwood floors that won't stain like those tiles in there."

"No." Richie said. "I'm okay now. I won't do it again. I don't think." His voice was strange, as though he was talking through a daydream. Both the older men were unsettled by his tone and exchanged glances.

"I can't train you if you're here and I'm in France." Methos said. Richie looked surprised, the first emotion to be seen since he had been pulled out of the bathroom.

"Paris?"

"Yes." Methos nodded. "Make a clean break, so to say."

"I don't want to leave."

"Actually, that's probably a good idea." Duncan said, clearing his throat. "It'd be easier to concentrate, if you were out of the city."

"So I wouldn't run the risk of seeing Michelle?" Richies voice broke over her name, but his face remained calm. Duncan nodded. "All right. But only if we go first class."

# # # # #

A week later, Methos and Richie arrived at Methos' house outside Paris. Methos had phoned a friend before they had left, and the house had been opened up and aired out. By time they arrived, the whole house smelled of the roses that grew in the vast beds the surrounded the back lawn. Richie, however, dropped his bags in the doorway of his room and stumbled to the bed, almost asleep before he landed on it.

Methos unpacked most of his bags, then wandered out onto the decking at the rear of the house.

Set just outside the city, it was a comfortable villa, boasting a large garden, huge lawn and six bedrooms. Methos hadn't been here in quite a while, and hadn't realised how much he'd missed it until he'd returned.

Sighing, he stared at the garden, kept neat by the monthly visits from the gardener, then turned and went back into the house. There was so much to be done.

# # # # #

The next morning Methos got up to find Richie investigating the kitchen cupboards. He watched for a while, then announced his presence by banging the door slightly.

"Good morning." He smiled. Richie waved at him, his head in the depths of the larder. "There's nothing there, and I was going to suggest eating out."

"Sure." Richie emerged, slamming the doors. He looked slightly better than the night before; the dark circles under his eyes hadn't disappeared but they were definitely smaller, and he managed a smile, although his eyes were still guarded. Methos frowned, remembering the cocky attitude the boy used to have. And will again, most likely, he thought, not sure if it were a good thing or not.

"Will we have to go into Paris to eat?" Richie asked, following him out to the garage.

"No, there's a village a few miles the other way. They have real food, not that processed tourist crap." Methos heaved on the heavy door, swinging it open slowly to reveal his car.

"I thought you didn't drive!" Richie exclaimed, staring at the sleek lines with open admiration.

"I don't." The older man laughed, flicking the keys in his direction. Richie caught them and bounded towards the drivers door. Methos climbed in the other side more sedately, and a few moments later the black Mercedes sped out into the country road.

# # # # #

Half an hour later, they were seated outside a tiny cafe, surrounded by various dishes. The woman who ran the cafe remembered Methos from the last time had visited, with Alexa, and treated them to a free breakfast, saying it was the least she could do for such a gentleman. Richie, barely able to hold his laughter in, had contented himself with staring at the countryside.

"Had enough?" Methos asked, putting his mug down. Richie wondered if he were drinking the awful mixture he called coffee.

"If I eat any more I'm going to burst." He pushed his plate away with a lazy smile.

"I don't think we'll bother with any training today; it's almost lunchtime." Methos glanced at his watch. "What do you feel like doing this afternoon?"

"What is there to do?" Richie asked, looking around.

"We could head back and go for a swim." Methos suggested. "There's a pool somewhere around the back of the house."

"Okay." He shrugged. "Can I drive back though?"

# # # # #

They took the scenic route back, to give their stomachs time to digest breakfast, and little by little Richie relaxed. Methos hoped he was starting to get over Michelle; Duncan had told him before they left that Richie had only been sleeping for a few hours a night before getting up.

"What was that?" Methos asked. Richie had asked him something.

"I said, what makes you think you'll be a better teacher than Mac?" Richie guided the big car around an open gate and glanced at him.

"Because I think I can push your buttons better than he can. He's too nice to you." Methos grinned.

"Great." Richie exclaimed. "So you're a sadist."

"Funny you should say that." Methos pointed. "See that building up there?"

"That stone one, on top of the hill?" Richie slowed down a little so he could have a decent look. It looked old, almost crumbling, but still stood proudly in the daylight.

"That is the place where the Marquis de Sade wrote his book." Methos said.

"Who?"

"Sadism was named after him." Methos explained. "He wrote a book, and was booted out of the nobility for it. Then his servants started talking, and he spent most of his life in exile and or prison for what he had done to them."

"Sounds like a nice guy." Richie turned back to the road and Methos felt the power of the car as it surged forward a little faster.

"To be fair, his book wasn't so bad. He wrote it to test his limits, I think. Sodomy was one of those topics that you never mentioned. Writing about a hundred and twenty days of fun was unbelievably revolting." Methos laughed. "Things have changed now."

"You think sodomy is fun?" Richie screwed his face up in distaste.

"Well, depending on who you're with, and the mood at the time." Methos laughed at Richies expression.

"Well, to each his own I guess." Richie shook his head, pretending to shudder at the idea.

"I think you're been around the Boy Scout too long." Methos told him airily. "He's homophobic too."

"I'm not homophobic. I'm just not into it." Richie shrugged. His expression darkened for a moment and the car slowed down. Methos glanced at him sideways, but he was checking the wing mirror and Methos couldn't see his expression.

"Do I take the next left?" Richie asked, turning towards him.

"Yeah." Methos nodded, but his smile was gone. There had been fear in the boy's eyes for a moment


	4. Chapter 4

"You're getting better." Methos panted, drawing away for a moment. Richie grinned and wiped the sweat from his face.

"Does that mean we can stop soon?" He asked, eyeing the cool waters of the swimming pool. Methos gave a shout of laughter, trying to catch his breath. They had been in France for four days now, and had been training every day; today they were up to three hours without a break. Richie was improving, but Methos suspected it had more to do with being away from reminders of Michelle than any of his lessons.

"I guess." He ceded gracefully, then took Richie's sword as the boy leapt into the water.

"Are you going to stand there all day?" Richie asked, flicking water from his face as he surfaced.

"You want me to get in?" Methos stared at the water distastefully.

"No, I want you to bring me a beer." Richie pulled a face at him.

"You're learning." Methos said approvingly, already moving towards the open door. They had gone shopping a few days before, and the fridge was well stocked with European beer. Methos grabbed two bottles and headed back outside.

"Now, get in." Richie ordered. Methos stared down at him, then laughed.

"Sure." He said sarcastically.

"Why not?" Richie asked, bobbing along next to him as he made his way to the chairs at the end of the pool.

"I don't like the water." Methos said. "And I'm not getting in there."

"Then why did you put in a pool?" Richie asked.

"To watch other people." Methos popped open his bottle and took a healthy slug. Richie pulled the fingers and disappeared beneath the water. A moment he launched out of the pool and rolled onto the warm concrete, thoroughly soaking Methos.

The older man froze for a second, the water trickling down his face. The instant Richie began to laugh, he launched himself from the chair to tackle the boy, but Richie was quicker. He rolled back into the pool, and Methos, suddenly having nothing to stop his momentum, tumbled headlong after him.

Surfacing, he coughed, trying to empty his lungs, and shook the water from his face. Richie was leaning against the wall, laughing helplessly, and Methos glared at him for almost a full minute before moving towards the ladder in the corner.

Richie, still laughing, suddenly doubled over, gasping. Methos turned as he sank beneath the water, thinking it was another ruse. But Richie surfaced, his face contorted in pain, and Methos began to swim awkwardly towards him; weighted down by his clothing, the movement was so slow it seemed he was going nowhere. Cursing, he put his feet down and began to walk slowly towards Richie.

Grabbing his arm, Methos hauled him back to the surface.

"Are you all right?" He asked. Richie shook his head, spluttering, and Methos turned and began to drag him towards the ladder.

Getting him out of the water was relatively simple, as Richie managed to get up the ladder using one hand, then he collapsed on the soft grass. Methos shook himself off, then stared down at Richie, who had stopped coughing and was lying still, breathing deeply.

"That'll teach you." He said mildly. Richie breathed a swear word at him, and he sat down next to him. "Cramp?" The boy nodded, and Methos poked him in the side experimentally. Richie winced, and Methos began to massage his stomach. "You know," Methos began conversationally, "I think I forgot to tell you about warming up and warming down. Did MacLeod forget as well?" He glanced at Richie, who nodded ruefully. His breathing was coming slightly easier now, and Methos help him sit up.

"I think you deserve the nickname." Methos told him. He looked up, not sure what the older man meant. "Brat, I mean." Methos' laughter was cut off as Richie lunged at him. The two men wrestled for a moment, then Methos sat up, throwing Richie off to one side. "What is your problem?"

"Don't call me that." Richie said coldly, getting to his feet. Methos shrugged.

"Fine." He got to his feet. "Your beer is getting warm."

"I don't want it. I'm going to have a shower." Richie got slowly to his feet, ignoring Methos' outstretched hand, and made his way back into the house. Methos returned to his seat, trying to spread out so he'd dry off quicker.

# # # # #

Dinner that night was a silent affair. Richie picked at his food, which made Methos wonder what was wrong with him; Richie was usually likened to an Insinkerator when it came to food. But he resisted all Methos' attempts to start a conversation, and excused himself as soon as he could.

Methos, left to clean up, sighed to himself and tipped the remains of the meal down the sink, then grabbed a beer and walked out onto the decking, pausing only to turn on the lights.

The lights were spread along the garden path and around the pool; the place looked ready for a wedding reception, he thought with a smile.

The soft pattern of light was broken by a white square; the light from Richie's room. Methos shook his head. He had thought that Richie had been an okay kid, as teenagers went. When he had offered to take over his tutoring, he hadn't expected to have to deal with teen angst. It wasn't something he'd had a lot of experience with. He couldn't even remember when he had been a teen himself.

Sitting down, he placed his beer on the table next to him and thought back. He remembered his first Quickening - no one ever forgot that - but before that, there was very little. Sheep, dotted on a hillside. A string of flowers, made by someone for him. A wolf, its eyes glowing in the dark. He shook his head. It's no use, he thought, I can't remember. He sighed. Being Immortal, he was expected to have two pasts: one for the 'public', the mortals, and his real one. But if he couldn't remember what his real one was, would that mean the past he had built for himself, as Adam Pierson, was his only one?

The square patch of light suddenly winked out, and the garden seemed much darker, even with the soft garden lights. Methos shivered as another thought occurred to him. If he really only had the past of Adam Pierson left to him, what right did he have to think he could train someone to play the Game?

# # # # #

Richie was up before Methos the next morning, frying eggs and bacon. He smiled as his teacher came into the kitchen, and gestured to a pile of toast a loaf high.

"What's this in aid of?" Methos asked, picking up a piece and biting into it warily.

"An apology." Richie said. "For last night."

"Why? Everyone has off days." Methos shrugged.

"Yeah but... I wanted to do this." Richie grinned and tipped the bacon on a paper towel to drain.

"Richie." Methos sat down at the counter so he could watch the boy. "Your week is up." Richie stared at him, not understanding. "I mean, have you decided if you want to stay here, or go back to MacLeod."

"Oh." Richie lost his smile. "I don't know."

"You don't have to make a decision now." Methos said quickly. "Just think it over."

"Sure." Richie cracked another two eggs into the pan. "I hope you like these scrambled."

# # # # #

That morning, they left to go to Paris, Methos again letting Richie drive. As he had said so many times before, French drivers were too arrogant for him to bother, and Richie seemed to be able to handle the car okay.

"I like it here." Richie said, eventually breaking the silence that had descended. "Do you think Mac would train me here?"

"I have no idea." Methos said cheerfully. "You could ask him, I suppose." He flicked through the radio stations, eventually finding one that was playing music and not the news, and settled back.

"I don't think I want to get back to Seacouver just yet." Richie admitted.

"That's all right." Methos glanced at his young charge, and was surprised to see him gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were stark white against the grain of the polished wood. The sight reminded Methos of the afternoon in Duncan's bathroom, and he quickly looked out the window. "We could compromise, and meet Duncan in the middle."

"What?" Richie glanced at him.

"I think Mongolia is between here and France." Methos said lightly, pointing at the turn off they had to take.

"I'm not going to Mongolia." Richie laughed, slipping into the correct lane to turn off.

"Well, I'm just saying that you don't just have to choose between here and there. There are other options." Methos pointed out. Richie nodded thoughtfully, turning his attention back to the road. The closer they got to Paris, the more annoying the drivers became, and by time they were in the city itself, Richie was feeling frustrated and moody. He and Methos left the car in a parking building and walked around the city. Unfortunately, the tourists were just as bad as the drivers, and when they reached Duncan's barge, Richie was silent and sullen.

Methos left him to his own devices and managed to find a beer before flopping onto the sofa. He had tried his best to keep a conversation running, but Richie hadn't been interested, and Methos was getting impatient.

"And what better way to relax than a beer." He told himself.

His feet had almost stopped aching when he heard a female scream from the road that ran along the river, and got to his feet somewhat ruefully to investigate.

A woman was sitting in the gutter, shaking badly. Two figure were running up the road, and Methos leapt off the barge, recognising Richie's jacket.

"Are you all right?" He asked the woman, who began babbling at him in incoherent French. Patting her on the shoulder, he began to sprint after Richie, who had skidded around the corner, yelling at the person he was chasing.

Why, he asked himself, his feet already protesting, are you running after McLeod's student when you could be back in Seacouver with a good book? He reached the corner and paused. The street was deserted.

He took a few tentative steps forward, then broke into a run as he heard a startled shout. Darting into an alley, he staggered backwards as a body slammed into him, knocking him into the wall.

Grunting in surprise, he tried to grab the man, but he was already gone. Turning, he glared at Richie, who was leaning against a dumpster, breathing heavily.

"What the hell..." He frowned. Something in Richie's expression stopped him from berating the boy any further.

"Crap." Richie managed, before his eyes rolled back in his head. Methos leapt forward and caught him as he fell forward, and laid him slowly onto the concrete.

"We," He told the unconscious form, "have got to stop meeting like this." He grinned to himself, then lost his smile as he saw why Richie had died. Grasping the hilt, he grimaced to himself and pulled the knife free. Dark blood spurted over his hands and he dropped the knife, wiping his hands on some paper from the dumpster. Sitting down, he stared at the end of the alley. He could probably get Richie back to the barge, but he wasn't prepared to leave him alone while he checked to see if the woman was still there. He glared at his body for a moment.

"I think I should have left you in Seacouver to mope." He said. "At least there it was only you hurting yourself." The thought was not a nice one, and he stared at the wall opposite, waiting patiently for his student to wake up.

His student? He was now, Methos supposed. He had said that he didn't want to return to America yet, although if Duncan arrived here, things might be different. But Methos doubted he'd leave. What with headhunters to track down and young people to train, he wouldn't be able to find the time.

Shame really. Methos looked down at Richie. He looked as though he were asleep. Well, he was, in a sense. Although being asleep is generally much nicer than being dead, he thought, quashing the smile before it took hold. He looked a lot younger when he was asleep, although most people did. He looked too vulnerable to be Immortal. He _was_ too vulnerable to be Immortal. Had any of them ever had that aura of innocence? He doubted it. And he knew from experience that Richie was anything but innocent. Sleep forms its own mask, he decided. It just happens to be more truthful than any other.

Richie groaned and rolled over, curling up. Methos poked him, and he mumbled something. Leaning forward, Methos poked him where the knife had gone in. Richie's eyes popped open and he sat bolt upright, shoving Methos backwards.

"Christ!" Methos' head bounced off the dumpster and he shook it.

"Sorry." Richie said, looking abashed. Methos waved at him to forget it and got slowly to his feet, offering a hand to Richie.

"I take it he got away?" Richie pulled himself up with Methos' help and rubbed his side.

"You take it right. Why were you following him?"

"He attacked that girl. How long was I out?"

"About half an hour." Methos replied, glancing at his watch. "We better get moving. I don't want to get caught in the five o'clock traffic jams."

"Neither." Richie straightened and stretched gingerly. Reassuring himself that he'd live, they began to walk back.

 


	5. Chapter 5

"If I have to bail you out once more," Methos said, dropping into the barge, "you have to buy me a years supply of beer."

"That is not fair." Richie followed, still being careful of his tender side. "I never asked you to come after me."

"I know. But I doubt the highlander would appreciate me letting you get killed, especially so soon after I stole you from him."

"Stole me?" Richie looked doubtful.

"He was less than thrilled, I think, but he couldn't argue against my logic." Methos grinned and dropped into a chair.

"What logic was that?" Richie asked suspiciously.

"That I can upset you better than he can."

"What?" Richie laughed, not believing him. He nodded.

"I can upset you, make you forget your lessons and just fight. That is what I'm going to train you not to do."

"You..." He shook his head. "You don't upset me."

"Really?" Methos grinned. "Even if I call you a brat?"

Richies face worked for a moment; emotions slid across it almost too fast for Methos to catch. Almost. Fear, misery and hate all appeared before being replaced with a faint smile. And all in less than a second.

"See? I'm not upset." He smiled triumphantly. Methos raised an eyebrow, and picked up a magazine.

"Well, I guess I'll to find something that will upset you." He said mildly. He opened the magazine, and flicked through it, but his mind kept spinning back to the look in Richie's eyes. Something wasn't right. It wasn't the first time he'd reacted strangely to something that seemed so innocent. Against his better judgement, Methos found himself determined to find out what it was.

# # # # #

They stayed at the barge for the night, and returned to the country house the next morning. Richie had seemed fairly normal, and Methos had almost forgotten about what had happened the day before by the time they pulled into the drive.

"What's that?" Richie asked, pointing at something as he pulled into the garage.

"No idea." Methos responded, getting out of the car. He waited until Richie was out of the garage, then pulled the door shut.

"Package from Italy." Richie said, picking it up. "For me."

"Italy?" Methos frowned as he unlocked the door. "Who do you know in Italy?"

"Amanda." Richie said, fingering the slanted handwriting. He followed Methos into the house, and put the package down on the counter. He slid a finger along a fold, popping it open. Methos threw open the door, and the scent of roses flooded the house.

"What is it?" He asked, surveying the lawn.

"It's a set of handcuffs, a blindfold and a gag." Richie pulled them out one by one. "She says in her note they are to shut you up when you get to be too much." He laughed and picked up the gag. "Genuine leather, too."

"Good. The artificial ones taste revolting." Methos said, his face deadpan. Richie stared at him, trying to figure out if he meant it or not. "What's for dinner?"

"Leather." Richie replied, throwing the gag at him.

# # # # #

"This isn't fair." Richie complained, slipping a little in the wet. Methos smiled and stepped forward, closing the gap between them. Lifting his sword, he began his offensive. Richie, fighting barefoot on uneven ground while the sprinklers were soaking the lawn, didn't manage to stay upright very long. As he tripped for the fourteenth time, he threw his sword aside and glared up at Methos, who was laughing.

"I want to swap places now." He said, shielding his face from an over enthusiastic sprinkler. Methos nodded, and took his shoes off. Richie went back to the deck to get his, and Methos kicked the grass a few times, making muddy holes.

When Richie came back, Methos dug his feet into the gaps he'd made, and bent his knees slightly, giving the impression he was further away than he really was. Richie, now confident he'd be able to beat Methos, began his offensive, following roughly the same pattern Methos himself had used.

Methos defended himself for a few minutes, then saw Richie was getting impatient. Grinning at him, he shot one foot out, catching Richie around the ankle and tripping him backwards. Methos, forgetting he was on wet grass, put his foot down and promptly fell forwards onto Richie.

Richie's sword, still seeking blood, pierced his shoulder with a sudden agony, and he gasped, dropping all his weight onto Richie. Richie grunted in surprise, and stared into Methos' eyes as the older man gasped quietly in pain.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, then Methos' lips opened to form a word.

"Ouch." His voice shook, and he rolled off onto the wet grass. "Why do you insist on trying to take my arm? It's my head you should be going for." He muttered. Richie grinned nervously, throwing his sword aside.

"I'm sorry." He apologised, half sitting up. "Is it bad?"

"I'll live." Methos was talking through clenched teeth. Richie laughed softly, and Methos grinned, knowing better than to laugh. Already, he could feel the edges of the wound close together. He opened his eyes and stared at Richie, blinking at water ran into his eyes.

"Your eyes look like a different colour up so close." He said, smiling faintly.

"That's what Michelle said." Richie told him flatly, his gaze steady. "Of course, she said that right before the time we kissed."

"You want me to kiss you?" Methos tried to keep his voice light, and almost failed. Richie stared at him, not sure if he was joking or not.

"Like I said, I'm not into that." He backed up a little bit, grimacing as the water seeped through his pants.

"Neither am I." Methos shrugged. "But the offer is there." He got to his feet, shaking himself off. The sprinklers suddenly turned themselves off, and they found themselves in complete silence. Methos looked around slowly, then offered Richie a hand up. The boy took it, and rose to his feet, but Methos didn't let go. Richie stared at him for a long moment, then withdrew his hand firmly and turned away. Methos watched him go, wondering what had made him say that, and why he was disappointed with his answer.

# # # # #

When Richie got out of the shower, he wander back out to the deck in bare feet, wondering where Methos had gone. As the sun began to warm him, he was surprised to see his teachers dark head emerge from the pool.

"Thought you only got that so you could watch other people." Richie called to him. Methos turned, and the sunlight reflecting from his wet hair seemed to form a halo. Richie stared at him for a long moment, then closed his eyes. The halo danced on the inside of his eyelids for a moment, and he opened his eyes again. Methos was sitting on the edge of the pool.

"I changed my mind." Methos said lightly. He was still wearing the light track pants that he trained in, but his shirt was piled in a sodden heap on the bottom step. Richie stared as he slipped back into the pool. Muscles flexed under his skin as he swam a length, glistening smoothly.

Richie swallowed. Up until now, he had never seen Methos as anything but a frequently annoying friend, then a teacher. Now, thanks to their earlier encounter, there were thoughts running through his head that he'd never imagined. Flushing, he stomped back inside, intending to take refuge in his bedroom.

# # # # #

Methos watched Richie disappear back into the house, mentally kicking himself. Still, what's said is said, and now it was up to the two of them to deal with it. Methos ducked his head under the water, pushing down until he was sitting at the bottom of the pool. Here, it was dead silent, and he let his breath out slowly, thinking.

He had had male lovers in his past. Not nearly as many as female, but there you go. He had learnt long ago that lust didn't differentiate between the sexes. Neither did love. But Methos didn't want to upset either Richie or Duncan - which anything to do with Richie would surely do - because of some notion he had got into his head.

He liked Richie. The kid was good company, if a little annoying, and he was a good student. Methos knew that to attempt a relationship with him would only end in disaster, whether it was based on love or lust. He wasn't prepared to risk either friendship for the sake of his hormones.

Letting the last of his breath out, he opened his eyes and stared at the surface of the water. It had settled over him, and was moving slowly.

He knew that a relationship was probably a bad idea. But would that stop him trying? Or, for that matter, would it stop Adam Pierson?

# # # # #

Methos was in the kitchen when Richie emerged from his bedroom, driven by hunger. Methos offered him a beer, which he declined politely. He then offered him one of the hamburgers he was making. Richie's stomach answered for him, rumbling loudly in the quiet room, and they laughed. The tension broken somewhat, Methos stared at him.

"Scared you, right?" He asked, holding his gaze. Richie smiled, but it wasn't very convincing.

"Well, no." He took the plate Methos was holding out to him and sat down at the counter. "It was just unexpected, that's all."

"Enjoy the unexpected while you can." Methos informed him. "Things get boring when you get old."

"Great." Richie muttered. Methos laughed at him and opened the fridge, pulling out a carton of orange juice. "So you do things like that to keep your life un-boring?"

"Sometimes." Methos shrugged, pouring the juice into a glass. He glanced up at Richie and grinned.

"This time?" Richie asked. His heart was suddenly beating loudly, and he frowned slightly when Methos locked gazes with him.

"I think," the older man said, "that I'm going to leave that up to you. You decide how you want to take it."

"I'd rather know how you meant it." Richie said, hoping Methos couldn't hear the rapid thumping that filled his own ears.

"To be honest?" Methos tilted his head to one side. "I'm not telling you. Now drink this. We're going to start training after breakfast."


	6. Chapter 6

"MacLeod taught you a few useful things then." Methos commented, picking himself up. Richie grinned at him.

"Yeah, but it's a lot different fighting on grass than on a floor." He said. Methos nodded.

"Shall we try with the sprinklers again?" He asked, glancing at the tap nestled under a rhodedendron bush. Richie shrugged, but the look on his face was doubtful.

"You should probably learn to fight in all conditions." Methos smiled brightly as he sidled over to the tap and turned it on. Right across the lawn, the sprinklers came to life, spraying water up at waist-height.

"Nice excuse." Richie muttered, lifting his sword. Methos nodded and lifted his own.

"Defense?" He asked. Richie nodded, and the older man moved in, pushing just enough to keep Richie moving continuously. The older man suddenly switched hands, and began to push a little harder. Richie flicked his hair off his face and the look on his face grew more determined. Methos engaged his sword, then slapped him with his free hand. Richie flushed red, and his jaw set.

"Fight with both hands." Methos instructed, wrapping both his hands around his grip. Richie nodded and followed suit. The fighting instantly became more forceful, and Methos nodded to himself, noting his students stance and timing.

"Don't follow the same pattern." He cautioned. Richie frowned, concentrating, and Methos suddenly found himself backing up. He smiled and began to move the way he usually fought, holding very little back, and managed to stop his retreat a few feet from the edge of the pool. An idea coming to him, he began to swing left, drawing Richie around with him.

Richie, watching the fight and concentrating on what he was doing, didn't really notice until he stepped onto the tiles. Dry, they had a lot more grip than the wet grass, and he almost overcompensated, nearly falling in the pool. Methos laughed at him and pushed him in.

"Always be aware of your surroundings." he said, thrusting his blade into the lawn. Richie nodded, rolling his sword out of the pool and paddling to the ladder. "Your concentration is good, but you need to spread it a little thinner."

"Is this fighting or fighting dirty?"

"Generally, we try not to fight dirty." Methos smiled. "Although I suppose it might help. You never know what morals your opponent has."

"You got that right." Richie muttered, getting out of the pool. Methos raised his eyebrows.

"If you have something to say, say it." He said lightly. "Just remember that your week is up, and you can go back to MacLeod anytime. But you haven't yet." His lip curled into a half-smile. "Why not?"

"Because he's busy. And I don't want to go back to Seacouver yet." Richie said stoutly, meeting his gaze. "And..." He bit his lip, frowning as though he hadn't meant to say anything.

"And... you like the company." Methos finished for him. He flushed and nodded.

"Yeah, why not?" He grinned. "You're a good teacher."

"I have my moments." Methos agreed. He picked up Richies sword and offered it to him. Richie took it, frowning still, and Methos sighed dramatically. "Are you going to be creeping around me from now on?" He asked, not letting go of the sword. "If the offer of a kiss freaks you out so much, just say so. Or leave. But if you want to stay my student, deal with it." He let go of the sword and pulled his own from the lawn, suddenly bursting with impatience.

He turned at the door, but Richie hadn't moved, and he had a momentary flash of guilt. Pushing it down, he wiped his blade and headed upstairs to have a shower.

# # # # #

Richie was sitting at the kitchen table when Methos emerged. The older man glanced at his back as he passed him on the way to the fridge, where he poured himself an orange juice.

Sipping it, he leaned against the sink and stared out of the window.

"I'm not going back yet." Richies voice startled him, and he turned, surprised. He had been sure that pushing anything would have sent the boy running.

"Good. I think you going back so soon and running into Michelle would be a bad idea." Methos told him. Richie's lips tightened at the mention of his ex, but he held the older man's gaze. Methos moved around the counter and sat down, taking the chair nearest the door so he was facing Richie. "So you're going to deal with it?"

Richie nodded. "Yeah. Whatever 'it' is going to be." He shrugged. "I think I'm not going bother with women for a while. They seem to be more trouble than they're worth."

"That's what MacLeod said about you." Methos grinned. Richie snorted softly.

"I'd believe that. Now I know what he means."

"You think you'd cheat on Duncan?" Methos asked lightly. Richie smiled.

"I let you take over teaching me, didn't I? You're the one who said you'd stolen me from under his nose."

"Yeah, he wasn't entirely thrilled." Methos nodded. "Tell me, what made you say 'whatever 'it' means'? It was only an offer. Take it or leave it." He lifted his drink to his lips.

"That's true." Richie replied slowly. "But 'it' didn't just mean what you said." Methos raised his eyebrows in a silent question, and Richie shrugged. "After you said it, it got me thinking, that's all."

"Ah, the age old question." Methos smiled faintly. Riche flushed, and Methos put his glass down. "I find it helps if you don't worry about things. Just take them as they come, or as you find them."

"It's too weird." Richie answered, shrugging. "It's not something I've ever thought about, that's all."

"So don't think about it." Methos suggested, standing up. "I'm going to shoot into the village for something to eat that I didn't cook. Want to come?"

"No thanks." Richie shook his head. "I think I'm going to check out the bike in the shed."

"Don't try and ride it." Methos warned, tipping his juice into the sink. "It's a temperamental thing."

# # # # #

Methos climbed out the car and crossed the road. Miriam, having sighted the car already, had a tray waiting for him, and he thanked her before taking it to the far corner of the cafe.

Well, he'd done it. He'd offered Richie... what? A relationship? A fling? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that since he had seen Richie lying in a pool of his own blood in that alley in Paris, he had started feeling protective towards the kid. It was this that made him think that whatever he was feeling wasn't lust. But he doubted it was love. What other alternative was there?

Like. Methos smiled to himself, staring idly at the newspaper Miriam had placed on his tray. He'd start off with like, the way teenagers did. It was a relatively safe assumption.

He liked Richie. No matter how annoying he could be. But he hadn't gotten to the stage of telling him that and the kid was already freaking out. Methos picked up both the paper and the cup of coffee, attempting to make some semblance of normal behaviour.

If - and that was very large if - Richie decided that he wanted to be with him, what would the Boy Scout say? The thought was enough to make Methos choke on his coffee. Putting down his cup, he bent closer towards the paper, as if seeing something that took his interest. Miriam smiled at him politely from the counter, and he nodded back.

He could just imagine what Duncan would have to say about that. He entertained the thought for a moment, then sighed and returned to the real reason he was so edgy.

He had given someone to opportunity to get close to him. The very idea was enough to wipe the smile from his face, and he bit his lip. He had managed to get this far because he had been wary of letting anyone close. Even Alexa, even Bella, had been held at a distance by the fact that they hadn't known that he was Immortal. Richie knew. Getting close to Immortals was even more dangerous than getting close to normal people. Richie was only young. He was going to stay only young. Did Methos want to start something with someone who had the potential to kill him?

# # # # #

Richie bent over the bike, running a hand over it carefully. It was a 1983 Harley, in near perfect condition. It had obviously been sitting for a while, and Richie searched for a rag and something to clean it up with.

Hunkering down next to the body of the big bike, he had a sudden picture form in his mind, of Methos playing the part of an eighties biker. Grinning, he began to wipe away the dust the bike had gathered.

Methos. Richie paused. Methos had more or less offered him something. He wasn't entirely sure what, but before he could work that out, he had to decide if Methos, in any incarnation, was what he wanted.

Putting aside the fact that Methos was male - very definitely male, Richie thought, remembering the image of him swimming, he tried to concentrate on his personality.

Cynic was the first word that sprung to mind. Richie smiled to himself. Cynical, and arrogant. But Richie suspected that there was a lot more to the legendary Methos than that. When he had woken up in the bathtub, Methos had looked worried - more than worried - although Richie had put that down to the fact that Methos had been worried about what Mac would do. Maybe he had been worried about Richie for his own sake.

They got on each others nerves, that much was definite. But it was never in a really spiteful way. Mac had suggested it was because they were so similar. That had bugged Richie, but now he wondered if maybe it wasn't such a bad thing.

Personality-wise, he wasn't so bad. Richie sat back, admiring the deep blue gleam of the petrol tank of the bike. But what about physically?

Standing up, he picked up the bottle of leather polish and began to wipe down the seat.

He had never been attracted to men in the slightest. The very idea was ... strange. Not revolting or degrading, as most of his friends had thought. Just different. The thought was a beginning, he decided. But he supposed he wouldn't really know whether he liked the idea until something happened.

At that thought, his heartbeat picked up and he could feel his face flame. Grinning self-consciously, he supposed that was as good an answer as any other.


	7. Chapter 7

Methos pulled into the drive slowly, wishing he drove enough to warrant trading in the Merc for something smaller. He stopped the car as the garage came into view. Richie was sitting next to the Harley, which had been wheeled out into the afternoon sunshine. The petrol tank and all the chrome gleamed, and Richie was cleaning something from the engine.

Methos watched him for a moment, then turned the car off and got out.

"Definitely an improvement." He said, leaning against the warm bonnet of the car. Richie grinned up at him.

"She's been sitting too long, and most of the hosing needs to be replaced, but other than that, she's perfect." He glanced at the body of the bike.

"You can have it." Methos said carelessly. Richie stared at him, his eyes widening.

"Are you serious?" He got to his feet, placing whatever he was holding carefully on the pile of rags.

"I never use it. I haven't used it in about ten years."

"Thanks." He glanced at the bike for a moment. "This... cool." He turned back to Methos. "Does that have anything to do with what we were talking about earlier?"

"Like I said before, you can take anything I say any way you like." Methos said, smiling faintly. Richie nodded, then looked at his feet.

"Thanks." He said quietly. "I'll take good care of it."

"Just don't blow it up." Methos laughed. Richie grinned, suddenly looking a lot younger. Methos swallowed, recognising the feeling that shot through him. He glanced at his watch.

"Feel like a late lunch?" He asked. Richie nodded, wiping his hands on one of the rags dangling from the handlebar of the bike.

"Sure. How was Miriam?"

"She kept feeding me coffee." Methos pulled a face as he followed Richie into the house. "I don't know how you people can drink it."

"Us people?" Richie asked, disappearing into the laundry to wash his hands.

"You young people today!" Methos called to him before escaping into the kitchen.

He was still staring blankly into the larder when Richie emerged, wiping his hands on a paper towel.

"I get enough of that from Mac." He said plainitively. "I thought coming over here with you would be a little better."

"Are you saying I'm as predictable as the Boy Scout?" Methos looked so disappointed Richie burst out laughing.

"Well, no." He admitted, sitting at the counter. "Actually, you're quite a bit... different." Their gazes locked for a moment, then Methos turned back to looking for something that wouldn't take too much effort to prepare. Richie stared at his hands, playing with the damp paper towel.

"But is that a good thing?" Methos asked, the loaded question hanging in the air between them for a moment.

"I'm not sure yet." Richie said slowly. Methos turned to look at him, not sure of the tone the boy used. Richie was staring at him, his dark eyes apprehensive. "I.... I'm not sure." He repeated awkwardly. Methos nodded, his heart thudding into his throat.

"That's all right. Hardly anything is ever certain." He forced a smile. "How does pasta with cheap sauce sound?"

"Great." Richies cheerfulness sounded forced, and Methos pulled the jar of pasta from the cupboard before slamming it and turning to face him.

"What do you want to do?" He asked. Richie stared at him, his eyes widening. Methos realised he'd said the wrong thing and lifted the jar. "Cook or wash up afterwards?" He added. Richie relaxed visibly, and Methos mentally sighed with relief, grinning. This was going to go very slow, if it was going to go anywhere at all, he thought.

# # # # #

The afternoon was spent doing as little as possible. Methos lazed in his chair on the deck, trying to find the energy to concentrate on the book in front of him. Richie was lying next to the pool, staring at the water idly.

They were both almost asleep when a harsh shriek cut through the air, and Methos almost fell of his chair in surprise.

"I didn't think the phone was connected?" Richie said, surprised. Methos shrugged and stood up, darting into the kitchen and rummaging in the top drawer where he'd thrown in the last time he had been here. Pausing in the doorway, he answered it.

"You could have left me your number, you know." Duncan sounded cross, and Methos smiled in spite of himself. Richie had left the pool and was sitting in his chair, asking him who it was.

"I forgot. I'm old, you know." Methos signalled that it was MacLeod, and Richie nodded, suddenly looking nervous.

"Tired excuse, Adam." Duncan warned. Methos frowned at the name, then glanced at his watch. Duncan must be calling from the bar, he realised.

"What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering how Richie was going."

"Hold on, I'll get him for you." Methos handed the phone to Richie, who grinned and started talking almost immediately. Methos knew it was a favourite trick of Richies' to talk to Duncan incessantly until he got his own way.

Walking to the edge of the deck, he stared at the vineyard that spread over the hill in the distance. What would Richie tell Duncan, he wondered. Not that there was anything to tell. Frowning, he turned back to look at Richie. A sudden surge of desire swept through him, and he sank onto the step, surprise overtaking him. Richie laughed and said goodbye to Duncan, then put the phone down and looked at Methos.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded, suddenly not trusting his voice. Richie got up, looking alarmed, and Methos wondered what Richie could see on his face. He turned away and stared at the garden, concentrating on the smell of the roses. He heard Richie come towards him, then the wooden decking shifted slightly as Richie sat down next to him.

"Are you sure? You look like you've had a heart attack."

"I'm okay." His voice sounded strange to his own ears, and Richie straightened slightly, leaning away from him. Some undefinable emotion slid across his face, and he stared at Methos in wonder.

Desire washed through him again, but this time it was deeper, and he gasped slightly. Richie's eyebrows twitched, as though he wanted to frown, and Methos focussed on his lips, which had parted slightly.

"Okay." Richie echoed, a bare moment before their lips met.

The kiss lasted no longer than a few seconds, and they drew back, both looking as surprised as each other.

"Duncan wanted to know when I'm going back." Richie said huskily. Methos nodded slightly; he had been expecting something like that. Sitting up, he forced a smile.

"And what do you think?"

"I think I'm not ready to leave yet." Richie replied, amazement still clear in his eyes. Methos nodded.

"That's okay."

"I also think..." He swallowed nervously, "That I'm ready to ask you exactly what you were offering."

 


	8. Chapter 8

For the first time since they had arrived, the big TV in the sitting room was switched on. Methos sprawled over an armchair, sitting sideways so his legs dangled over the arm. Richie stretched out on the huge sofa, and flicked through the channels, eventually finding an American movie that was still in English.

"What do you think Mac is going to say?" He asked idly. Methos started laughing.

"I think he might try and kill me." He replied, putting his book down. Richie laughed.

"He'll also give you a lecture about how nothing is set in stone." Methos said, his smile fading somewhat. It was two days since Duncan had rung, two days since the kiss. Methos had been caught off guard when Richie asked him what he wanted; he had honestly expected Richie to turn him down. He remembered refusing to answer, and they had settled into an atmosphere of patient expectation. It wasn't that Methos was scared of being turned down. He was more worried about what would happen if Richie said yes. He knew that McLeod tended to think of the boy as almost a son, and as much as the highlander bugged him at times, he would never want to get into a proper feud with him. Besides which, Methos wasn't sure what he wanted, but he knew that Richie was still hurting over the loss of Michelle, and that he didn't want to give him any false hope. At the same time, he didn't want to become a rebound fling. Life doesn't get easier with age, he thought ruefully.

"I think I'm not going to bother trying to think what he'll say." Richie said slowly. "I'm sure he'll have enough words for me without me adding to them for him." He turned back to the movie. Methos picked up his book again, but couldn't concentrate on it. Eventually, he dropped it on the floor impatiently.

"Problem?" Richie asked, tearing his attention from the TV to focus on him with a grin.

"No. Yes." He shrugged. "Can't concentrate on the book. Do you want anything from the kitchen?"

"Coffee would be nice."

"Sure." Methos padded out into the kitchen, thankful he had decided to turn on the central heating earlier that afternoon. The weather had taken a very definite turn towards autumn, and rain was pounding on the roof. Sighing, he opened the fridge and picked a bottle of beer, then poured Richie his coffee. By the time he got back to the living room, Richie was staring blankly at an ad for what seemed to be a type of food.

"Thanks." He took the mug and wrapped his hands around it, blowing gently on the steaming brew. Methos grinned and dropped back into his chair.

"You should get cable here." Richie told him. "I can't understand any of these ads."

"Once you've been here a while, you can understand the slang." He knew that Richie knew only schoolroom French, and that he got frustrated not being able to talk as much as he usually liked to.

"Maybe." Richie frowned at his coffee for a long moment. "I don't know if I want to stay that long."

"Really?" Methos kept his voice light.

"I'm not good at learning languages. It'd take a hundred years for me to understand that." He gestured at the TV, where a woman was now talking about the advantages of a body wrap at a private health resort. Methos laughed.

"Well, you've got a hundred years now. Be careful what you wish for."

"Don't say that." Richie pulled a face. "That saying has already come back to bite me on the ass." Methos stared at him, a questioning frown on his face.

"I wished that Michelle would break up with Simon for me. And she did. And then she dumped me for someone else." He pulled a face. "Women."

"I wouldn't worry about. She's just trying to fit in as much as possible into the lifetime she has." Methos reasoned. "Besides which, I thought you weren't going to bother with women for a while."

"Well, no." Richie flushed. "At least, not until I find out what's going on." Methos held his gaze for a long moment, trying to organise his thoughts, and Richie continued in a rush. "I mean, it was a mutual thing, what happened the other day, and I asked you what it meant and you didn't answer-"

"Richie." Methos interrupted. "That won't work with me." He smiled faintly and Richie faltered, then stopped altogether.

"Then tell me what I'm supposed to think." He said petulantly. "I thought that something like that would never... that I wouldn't..."

"I know." Methos smiled. "But it did, and you have."

"And now here we are." Richie finished. Methos inclined his head. "Now what?"

"Now, you tell me what you think, and what you want, and we'll go from there." He said. Richie stared at him.

"What about you?" He asked suspiciously. The older man shrugged.

"We'll get to that."

"Hmph." Richie stared at him for a long moment, then gave in. "All right. I meant what I said, when I said that I wasn't into it. But when you offered, it... I don't know... sparked off a whole train of thought that I didn't think I'd ever have to deal with. And then we kissed," He shrugged, "and now, I think that you could be the exception to the rule."

"What about Michelle?" Methos asked quietly. Richie's words had shaken him. At each turn, he had expected to be shot down, but this was something he hadn't dared think about.

"Michelle." Richies gaze clouded over. "Well, maybe what you said is right, about her trying to fit everything into her life. I think I loved her, but this... this isn't going to be anything like that."

So there will be a 'this' after all, Methos thought, letting out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"Your turn." Richie told him. "What do you think?"

"I think you're still hurting, and I think you will be hurting for a while." Methos replied honestly. "And I think that until you get past that, we probably shouldn't make any decisions."

"Worried you'll be a rebound?" Richie asked, a grin breaking out. Methos nodded simply, and he bit his lip.

"Richie, this isn't - couldn't - be just a thing. We're both Immortal, we'll have a long time to deal with the consequences of this, good or bad." He spoke quietly, but his words had the effect of a hammer. Richie's eyes widened, and he nodded, understanding why Methos was so reluctant to commit to anything more than a kiss. "I think we should probably get you back to Seacouver, and Duncan can take you back as a student."

"What will you do?" Richie asked.

"Me?" Methos faked a smile. "I'll be around."

# # # # #

Duncan wasn't home when Richie stumbled in three days later. He dropped his bags on the floor in the living room and lurched towards his bedroom. Reflecting for a moment that he was probably the worst person in the world when it came to jetlag, he crawled into bed fully clothed and closed his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a part two to this story but it suffers the usual curse of sequels. It will be posted, but it needs... a good kick in the teeth, I think.
> 
> Mostly, I need to actually watch the show and maybe have another go at it with some actual feel for the characters!


End file.
